


Winter Rose

by thechaoscryptid



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Dirty Talk, Explicit Consent, Friends to Lovers, Inspired by Music, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Non-Penetrative Sex, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Requited Love, Resolved Sexual Tension, with a hint of subby Felix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:40:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25632220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thechaoscryptid/pseuds/thechaoscryptid
Summary: "You want someone to warm your bed for the night, is that it?” Sylvain asks.Felix sets his jaw and looks away. “Notsomeone.”“Me.”“Goddess, you really are dense.”
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 15
Kudos: 192





	Winter Rose

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Daily for the beta ❤
> 
> The title/inspiration is from [Winter Rose](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YvnQ803R-Zk) by Karliene

At dusk, it’s hard to look at the light shining through the bare branches. It dapples beautifully on the forest floor, there’s no doubt about it—something in the way it caresses discarded leaves and dropped branches like they’re precious makes Sylvain want to sit in it forever, but dusk is fleeting, and so is its softness.

Golden light gives way to brilliant red that bathes the world in scarlet, staining the sky with the blood of the fallen and reminding the company that while they are here, they’re no longer children. They haven’t been for some time now.

He’s not exactly sure which is worse—the knowledge that after this things will have to go back to normal, or the realization that this (and likely every other night until he has no more) will be another that he doesn’t tell Felix that the way the gentle light pools in his eyes makes him want to write poetry that people will send to lovers for centuries.

He sits alone on a stump with his head in his hands, fingers buried in his hair and eyes firmly on the ground ahead of him. It’s only for a minute, he swears. He’ll get back to everyone else just as soon as he can get the thought of Felix’s snarling, heat-of-battle face out of his mind.

Maybe he’ll be here forever.

Sylvain swallows hard and looks up to glance around the trees in front of him. If he can’t force himself to move, he can at least pretend he’s doing some sort of sentry duty, right?

He  _ should  _ move, before he decides being Sylvain is no longer worth it and decides discarded armor and a pile of bones  _ is. _

Scarlet begins to bleed into the darker, more somber hues of nighttime before he actually manages to scrape himself together and make it back to camp. Felix is on him as soon as he sees him, asking him where he’s been, is something wrong?

“Fuck  _ off,  _ Sylvain,” he snaps when Sylvain quips about finding something wet and warm and way more inviting than this—he points around the camp for good measure—crew. “You’re insufferable, even in the midst of  _ all this.”  _ He mockingly makes the same gesture, turning away with a muttered command to make himself useful when Sylvain shoots him a grin. “And no skirt chasing,” he calls over his shoulder. “We don’t need that here.”

“Wounded, Fe,” Sylvain says dryly to himself. “Mortally.”

The camp, as it is, seems to have very little use for his help so late, so he busies himself with helping butcher the deer one of the men’s taken down. By the firelight, it’s easy to listen to the idle chatter of the people around him and forget that the warmth on his hands is blood, red as it is in the daytime hours. 

It becomes a test of endurance only when Felix has had enough of managing the scene. He delegates what’s left of his duties and walks over, wordlessly begging the knife off of the soldier assisting Sylvain and turning him toward the wounded. Still silent, he begins to cut. There’s a few times where Sylvain thinks maybe he might be beginning to say something, but instead, he sighs and continues on.

It happens twice more before he calls it out. “You’re brooding, Fe.”

“I’m not.”

“Well, it’s a funny way of being happy you’ve got there, then,” Sylvain says, setting the knife down and leaning slightly forward over the makeshift table. “A guy might even think you’re  _ joyful  _ if you’re not careful.”

“Remind me again why we’ve stayed friends for so long?”

“Certainly not your personality,” Sylvain says. He picks up the knife, smirking to himself at Felix’s irritated huff before making his way into the doe’s hindquarters. The same silence falls between them again, as it always seems to. Felix is content to sit and chew on whatever he’s wrestling with, and Sylvain…

Would really just like to smooth the furrow away from between Felix’s brows. He watches the other man’s bangs fall into his face, watches as Felix smears blood on his forehead when he shoves them away, and then points at the stain. 

“Red’s not really your color, you know.”

Felix starts, confusion coloring his gaze before his eyes roll up and he curses. 

“I could tie your hair up again for you,” Sylvain offers.

“What, plenty of practice on girls before you let them go in the morning?” Felix smiles at him, but it’s thin and sharp before it slips away completely. “No, Sylvain, I can do it myself. Annette!”

“What?” she calls over.

“This is nearly finished,” he says. “Do what you want with it.”

She picks up the meat with alarming haste, and Sylvain tips his head toward the brook just due east. “Clean up with me?”

“Mm.” 

Felix is beautiful, truly. Sylvain’s sure there’s other ways to describe the graceful curve of his body as he kneels to splash his hands in the water, the way the distant light of the fire echoes in his eyes when he turns to ask if he’s got all the blood off of his forehead, but he can't grasp them tonight.

“Here,” he says, taking the end of a sleeve and wetting it. He takes the opportunity to rest his free hand against Felix’s cheek as he dabs at the mark, and files the way Felix seems to instinctively lean into the touch away for later, when he’ll inevitably fall asleep to the thought. 

If this were another night, in an easier time, perhaps he could explore what exactly it means that  _ Felix Fraldarius,  _ of all people, seeks out such a simple gesture.

He clears his throat and steps away. “We should get back,” he says, and if his voice is a little rough, Felix has the good grace not to mention it. “I’m sure you’re starving.”

“From carrying your weight all march?” Felix says, the teasing bite of the words hitting just a bit differently now that there’s no one else around. 

“No, because it must take a lot of energy keeping that stick up your ass all day.” Sylvain pats a stuttering Felix on the shoulder and walks away, falling into easy bickering when Felix strides after him with fire under his heels and ice in his voice.

Time itself seems to slip away as they sit side-by-side on an old, toppled tree around the fire. The flames are warm, their heat seeping through cloth and skin to seep into bones that hold up the weight of the world, and yet somehow Felix’s presence is warmer. The touch of his shoulder against Sylvain’s is the most innocent thing in the world, as is the small curve of his lips at a joke before he stifles the laughter.

“I saw that,” Sylvain murmurs out of the corner of his mouth.

“You didn’t see shit, Sylvain,” and  _ oh,  _ no matter how many times he hears it, his name from Felix’s lips always makes something shift in his chest. “It’s really not that funny.”

“Felix,  _ darling, _ let yourself  _ go  _ for a minute,” Sylvain says. He lays it on thick, the whole time wishing it  _ wasn’t  _ a joke as Felix glowers over. His arm winds around the other man’s shoulder and there’s a split second of openness in Felix’s face that very nearly shocks Sylvain into silence before he’s being shoved off the log onto his back on the leaves behind him.

“You’re a menace,” Felix snips.

“Your menace,” Sylvain says, and everyone laughs, because that’s what he’s good at. Joking. Being funny. Lightening the mood and chasing after what he shouldn’t have. The stars above slowly come into focus as he just lays there, allowing the ground’s autumn cold reach up with icy fingers to hold him down.

“You’re going to freeze,” Felix says after a minute, pushing at his calves.

“Guess you’ll just have to warm me up.”

Felix shoves again, but there’s a softness in his eyes Sylvain’s sure he’ll deny if pressed about it. “Get up,” he says. “I’m not letting you die on me so easily.”

“Aw, Fe, is that  _ affection?”  _ Sylvain teases, making sure he’s upright first, because what’s the point in getting up if Felix would just shove him down at the halfway mark? “Very kind of you. So generous.”

“Good news, everyone, Sylvain’s volunteered to help tear down in the morning,” Felix says. 

Sylvain snorts, but elects not to fight it. There’s food in his belly, Felix at his side, and not even the whole world burning could pull him away from this space they’ve carved for themselves in the forest. At some point between dinner ending and the fire beginning to burn low, Annette begins to sing.

It’s the sort of song Sylvain would sing to Felix to help him sleep, perhaps, carding his fingers through Felix’s hair and earning himself soft sighs and maybe, if he’s lucky, a kiss. It’s all the questions he wants to ask, wrapped up in a simple melody that dances along with the flames until Annette reaches the end.

_ And when my petals fade their red, _

_ Will you pluck my weeping head? _

_ Or will you love me till the end? _

_ Your only winter rose _

The final refrain promises love and resilience, both things which Sylvain hopes the future might hold for them. Beside him, Felix’s eyes are beginning to droop. His jaw works as he fights a yawn and Sylvain leans closer, quietly propping him up as the rest of the company begins to disperse. 

“You’re going to fall asleep here if you don’t move,” Sylvain says eventually. The fire’s died enough that the cold bites at their cheeks, turning them rosy as Felix mutters something unintelligible and shoves his face further into Sylvain’s shoulder. “Fe.”

Felix only groans as he leans back, wincing as he stretches away the stiffness that’s come over them both. In the moonlight, he’s a different sort of man. There’s none of the slight softness the sunlight lends him—his proud cheekbones are knapped flint, hard and angry as the steel in his eyes that only sharpens in the silver glow, and he looks every bit the duke Sylvain hopes he survives to become.

In the downward curve of his lips, there’s something almost  _ pensive  _ as Sylvain stares up from where he’s still sitting.

“Something wrong?”

“I, uh—” Felix’s jaw works for a second before his walls come up and he tips his chin up to look down his nose. “Don’t stay out here too long,” he says. “Can’t have your fingers freezing off.”

“All right, I’ll go back to my bedroll and freeze there, then,” Sylvain says. He pokes at the remaining embers with the stick he’s been using all night, and when Felix doesn’t leave, glances out of the corner of his eye. “Seriously, what’s on your mind?”

Felix shakes his head and turns on his heel, pausing a few steps away. “There’s room in my tent if you’re going to complain,” he says, and Sylvain’s  _ really  _ not sure if it’s an invitation or he’s simply another thorn in Felix’s side.

Probably better to err on the side of caution.

There  _ is  _ a war on, after all.

Sylvain sighs as he banks the fire. In another life, one not as tainted, perhaps there’d be something there by now. Perhaps Felix would be more forthcoming, or Sylvain less of an ass, but as it is,  _ this  _ is the world they inhabit, and they’ll have to make the most of it. 

Animals cry out in the night, low and mournful sounds to accompany his humming on the way to his tent. 

_ While other blooms are still just buds, _

_ I am reaching for the sun _

_ You want me like a winter rose, _

_ A bloom you've never known _

“Sylvain,” he hears, a hiss as he’s about to begin tying down the flaps. “What are you doing?”

When he pokes his head out, Felix is standing a few feet away, arms crossed and shivering without any of his heavier clothing. “Going to sleep,” he whispers. “What are  _ you  _ doing?”

“I  _ said  _ there was room in  _ my  _ tent,” Felix says, and either Sylvain’s dreaming or dead, because Felix jerks his thumb over his shoulder when Sylvain can’t manage to say anything. “You’re not fucking deaf, are you?” he snaps sourly. 

“You want someone to warm your bed for the night, is that it?” Sylvain asks.

Felix sets his jaw and looks away. “Not  _ someone.” _

Sylvain must stare for a second too long as his mind catches up, because Felix decides he’s not coming after all. His frown deepens and he glances to the ground and swallows, not looking toward Sylvain again as he turns. He’s always fucking turning away, and Sylvain’s stumbling over forest debris to grab him before he can stop himself.

“Me.”

“Goddess, you really are the biggest fool in Fódlan,” Felix mutters, and no amount of warning could have prepared Sylvain for the coolness of Felix’s fingers rough on his face as he brings their lips together. His lips are heated, almost frantic as he presses further, harder.

He kisses like he lives, like something’s always frustrating him. 

In this case, it seems to be Sylvain’s shock.

“Don’t just leave me to do all the work, I know you’ve got more than enough experience,” Felix mutters. “Please, Sylvain...tell me I’m not the only one who feels this.”

Sylvain’s on him before the words have faded, one arm wrapping around Felix’s shoulders and the other pressed to the small of his back, dragging their hips together in the frigid autumn night. “You’re gonna get us caught, all exposed like this,” he whispers.

Felix nips at his lower lip but pulls away, lowering his hands to rest on Sylvain’s chest. “Would it be so bad?” he asks, but doesn’t make another move.

“Being seen with you? Absolutely not,” Sylvain says softly. He brushes a stray strand of hair out of Felix’s face, his hand slow and only a little shaky before it comes to rest against the supple curve of Felix’s neck. “But maybe it’s better not to wake the rest of the camp so late.”

“So come with me,” Felix says.

“Fe—” Sylvain leans their heads together, smiles against Felix’s lips as he ghosts another kiss across them. “Nothing’s going to stop me from going wherever you lead me now.”

**

Kissing Sylvain is like kissing the sun, in that it somehow sears away all the reasons he’s given himself over the years as to why he  _ shouldn’t.  _ The warmth of him chases the doubt away, bathes him in a fondness he hasn’t felt for another since shortly after he decided that  _ love  _ was a force he had no interest in contending with.

When Sylvain whispers his name, it’s with reverence, and the shiver it sends through Felix has nothing to do with the cold. They manage to make it back to his tent without incident, bodies pressed together just inside as Sylvain slows.

“Just to appreciate,” he says, eyes flicking up and down every inch of Felix in the light of the lamp in the corner. He makes a show of it, curls his lips up and allows hunger like Felix has never seen to slip into his gaze before dipping his head back down. “It’s only once we get to do this for the first time.”

“And why haven’t we?” Felix asks.

Sylvain pauses, then, doubt flickering across his face as he pulls back. “Thought you probably had better things to do than fuck around with me,” he says, and oh, that honesty hurts Felix, but what comes next is a knife come to gut him. “Didn’t want to hurt you, either. You, uh—” He huffs, puts on a weak, twisted smile as he looks down to Felix’s hands on his hips. “You deserve someone who’s not nearly as much as a fuck-up.”

_ “Stop  _ that,” Felix says, thumping a palm against Sylvain’s shoulders. “I can’t fucking stand when you say that shit. That’s no reason.”

“Why now, then?” Sylvain asks, and Felix fists a hand in his shirt to drag him impossibly closer.

“Because I’m done being a coward when it comes to taking what I want.”

“And what’s that?” Sylvain asks, whispers, barely  _ breathes,  _ but the words are a mountain on Felix’s chest as he struggles to inhale.

“It’s always fucking been you, Gautier. You really  _ must  _ be dense.” Felix threads his fingers into Sylvain’s hair and tips his head down again, lets out a quiet sound of pleasure when their lips meet. 

Kissing Sylvain is like kissing the sun, in that it’s fucking dangerous. Passion eclipses sense as Sylvain leads them to their knees, then to lie on Felix’s bedroll as their tongues tangle lazily. It’s easy to forget the world here—there’s no war, no strife, only the gentleness with which Sylvain’s hands tease along the strip of Felix’s back where his shirt’s ridden up. 

“Goddess, you’re gorgeous,” Sylvain whispers when they next part. His eyes are blown wide and he’s looking up at Felix with that stupid smile Felix always wants to wipe away with a kiss or a fist, depends on the day. It’s the one that says _I know you, Fe,_ and though he’s still fully clothed, Felix feels _exposed._

“Of course I am,” he says into Sylvain’s shoulder. 

Sylvain laughs, and it’s music to Felix’s ears as Sylvain’s hand splays across the small of his back. “Gorgeous, and capable...fucking infuriating some days, but I wouldn’t have you any other way.” When Felix shudders, grinding his hips down involuntarily, Sylvain arches a brow. “You like that?” he asks.

“No,” Felix says, but the flush he feels spreading across his cheeks says differently. “I  _ don’t,”  _ he insists when Sylvain says it again. “Don’t be a prick.”

“Think you’d better kiss me to keep my mouth occupied, then,” Sylvain says, and so Felix does.

He presses his hands into the blanket just above Sylvain’s shoulders and cants his hips away, because there’s a very definite chance he’s not coming out of this with his dignity intact if Sylvain doesn’t stop the  _ infernal  _ movement of his own. Tracing the shell of Sylvain’s lower lip with his tongue, he sighs at the feeling of the other man winding his hand into his hair. When Sylvain tugs, though, he can’t stop the groan that’s ripped from low in his chest.

“Felix,” Sylvain says, and his voice is entirely too even when Felix feels like he’s about to burst into flames. “If you don’t stop reacting like every wet dream I’ve ever had, I’m not going to stop until you tell me to.”

“So don’t stop.” Felix swallows hard, blinks once as he pushes up on his hands. “Don’t stop until you’ve had all you want.”

“Fuck,” Sylvain growls. He drags Felix’s hips back down against his, hands rough and demanding now, rather than gentle, caring. 

Felix whimpers into the next kiss and Sylvain fucking comments on that, too. 

“So you like it a little rough, huh?” he all but purrs. “How about when I do this?” 

The tent spins and before Felix knows it, he’s looking up at Sylvain’s smirking face as his heart beats quickly in his ears. When Sylvain grinds down very purposefully against him, Felix gasps at the pressure. He  _ aches  _ with the want to get out of these clothes, to get Sylvain out of his, too, but he’s done his part for the night.

Sylvain can work if he’s going to be a damned tease.

“Let your hair down for me,” Sylvain says softly. “I want to see all of you, okay? Don’t hold back.”

“Do it yourself,” Felix retorts.

Sylvain snorts, as though it’s amusing, but does it anyway. Felix lets out a groan as it’s freed, and it’s not entirely from the position they’re in. Sylvain’s nails are blunt against his scalp as he spreads the strands out, rubs in a way that makes Felix relax in a way he hasn’t been able to in…

Goddess, it’s probably been forever.

“You really are pretty, Fe,” Sylvain murmurs in his ear. “I’ve been thinking about it all day.”

“Sure, you have.”

“I’m serious,” Sylvain protests. “I mean, not  _ just  _ today, but…”

“Oh?” Felix asks.

Sylvain flushes this time, deeply. “A lot,” he admits. “For a while.”

Felix wraps a hand around the back of Sylvain’s neck to pull him down. “Then we’re both morons,” he mumbles, nose bumping clumsily against Sylvain’s as he speaks. “Fuck you for waiting.”

“Fuck you, too,” Sylvain says, but laughs as he pulls lightly on Felix’s hair again. “Can I?”

“I  _ really  _ don’t want to spend the night jerking off, so yes,” Felix says. He presses up against Sylvain’s hardness, chasing something,  _ anything  _ to relieve the feeling that he’s going to die from this and this alone. 

Sylvain, on the other hand, seems content to take his time. He starts by pulling Felix’s shirt off, mouthing at the newly-bared skin until Felix growls impatiently and bucks up against him. “No,” Sylvain says sternly, and fuck.  _ Fuck.  _

“Fuck,” Felix whispers, throat dry and fingers grasping at his blanket as the word sends a bolt of arousal down his spine. 

“Oh, I’m going to have  _ fun  _ with you,” Sylvain chuckles. “So responsive.” He bites down softly on Felix’s collarbone, and Felix has to cover his mouth to muffle the sound that he makes when Sylvain’s calloused thumb swipes over a pebbled nipple. “You sound so good, Felix—I just want to listen to you all fucking night, sit here and tease you until you’re calling my name.”

“We’re in the  _ woods,”  _ Felix hisses. “Couldn’t you find a better spot to do that? A  _ bed,  _ perhaps? Any one will do, doesn’t even need to be one of ours.”

“Listen, I’d love to fuck you anywhere that’s not here, but this’ll have to do for tonight.” Sylvain skims his hands down Felix’s sides, touch light and leaving enough to be desired that Felix feels like kicking him. “But trust me, darling, you’ll forget everything but me soon.” Deft fingers pluck at the fastenings on Felix’s pants until Sylvain’s shoving them down around his thighs, and Felix  _ doesn’t  _ whine at the feeling of being wholly trapped below him.

Maybe at Sylvain’s whispered  _ Be good for me, Fe,  _ when he presses up, but certainly not the trapping.

His head tips back when Sylvain drags warm lips down the line of his jaw to his neck, nuzzling into the hollow below his ear to nip at his pulse. His tongue soothes the sting away immediately after, broad and wet and leaving Felix shivering when he pulls away and the cool air hits.

“Sylvain,” he says. “If you don’t take off your fucking pants, you’ll be back in your own tent before you know it.”

Sylvain pulls one of his hands to where he’s straining against the fabric, and Felix’s eyes flutter shut at the thought of how that length might feel buried inside him. 

Perhaps when they’re somewhere decent, somewhere that doesn’t smell of the cold and old wood.

He gives a gentle squeeze, and then does it harder when Sylvain’s jaw drops open against his throat.  _ “Felix.” _

“Off,” Felix says shortly.

“Yeah, yeah, fuck, okay…” 

It’s certainly not the most graceful Felix has seen Sylvain. The other man struggles to get his shirt off, arms tangling in the sleeves, and Felix laughs, because it’s somehow better than seeing the smooth, unaffected Sylvain that he seems to think he is. Both pairs of pants come off in a similar fashion, piled by their feet before Sylvain wraps them in the blanket.

“There,” he says. “Better?”

_ Fuck,  _ is it. Felix slides his hands down to drag Sylvain closer, ever closer. Their breath mingles in the night’s stillness as both struggle to keep quiet, only the thin canvas walls to hide the fact that finally,  _ fucking  _ finally, Felix has Sylvain where he’s wanted him for years now. He groans at the slide of Sylvain’s cock along his and then,  _ oh— _

Sylvain fists a hand in Felix’s hair to pull his head to the side and wraps the other around his length, stroking languidly as though trying to memorize every dip and vein. “Prettiest cock in Fódlan,” he murmurs into the hollow of Felix’s collarbone. 

“What, you’ve tried them all?” Felix snarks, but the effect is lost in his breathlessness.

Sylvain hums softly, shakes his head once. “Only wanted this one,” he says. His voice is thick, syrupy sweet as his thumb sweeps over Felix’s head. It cuts through the fog in Felix’s head like a bright light, anchoring him when he thinks he might be lost in the sensation of Sylvain’s cock leaking against his hip. 

“You sound even better in person than in my dreams,” Sylvain continues, and Felix’s nails dig hard into the muscles of Sylvain’s shoulders. “And I do dream, Fe. I’ve had you every which way, and  _ every  _ time—” He gives a harder twist, forces out a cry that Felix barely manages to bite back— “you tell me no one fucks you like I do.”

“I’d bet you're right,” Felix groans. “Shit, Sylvain…” His face twists in pleasure as Sylvain repeats the motion, then spreads his legs wider and reaches between them. “What else do I say?”

“Varies.”

Felix decides that for once, he’ll let it be. There’s tomorrow to bother him about it, at the very least, and Sylvain’s mouth is on his once more, and  _ that  _ makes it hard to want to speak. His body sings with each of Sylvain’s actions, fire roiling below his skin at every touch of Sylvain’s lips against his own, his neck, his chest. When Sylvain leans down to seal his mouth around one of Felix’s nipples, Felix can’t help the way his hips jerk up sharply.

Sylvain looks up at him like a cat that got the cream, the shit, and pulls Felix’s hand from his mouth. “I’m going to do that again, and it’s up to you if you’re going to let the whole camp know how good I make you feel.” He pins Felix’s hand down by his hip, continues stroking him as his tongue circles the hardened flesh, and  _ Goddess. _

Felix is going to hear about this in the morning.

He bites his lip hard enough that he draws blood, wiping it away with his tongue as he pants. Struggling against Sylvain’s hold, he lets out half-choked and aborted whines at each touch of Sylvain’s tongue, lips,  _ teeth,  _ for fuck’s sake, why does being  _ bitten  _ turn him into a mewling mess?

“Let it out,” Sylvain says. “Unless you’re  _ scared.” _

And Felix is not a coward, so he surrenders to the desires hot in his veins. He lets Sylvain’s name slip from his lips and into the tent,  _ loudly.  _

“That’s it, darling,” Sylvain purrs. “Say it again.”

“Sylvain, I swear to  _ fuck  _ if you don’t— _ hngh—”  _ Felix strains up, back bowing as Sylvain switches tactics.

He takes them both in one hand, lets Felix wrap unsteady fingers around his fist as his cock twitches against Sylvain’s. “You want to do it?” Sylvain says. “Want to take me apart with your hands, Fe?” He rolls his hips, fucking into their fists and making Felix see  _ stars  _ at the friction. And then, smirking against Felix’s cheek, he asks, “Think you  _ can?” _

Felix growls at him. “You’re wet enough I bet I could suck you once and you’d come, idiot,” he says, and apparently Sylvain’s thought about that, too, because he shudders and buries his face in Felix’s neck with a groan. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Maybe.”

“Then get on your back.”

“You don’t ne—”

“Did I stutter?” Felix asks, forcing Sylvain’s eyes to his. “On. Your back.”

Sylvain goes, and Felix wastes no time in kissing his way down the other’s heaving chest and stomach. He pauses, then, looks up as he mouths at the cut of Sylvain’s hip. Sylvain’s frozen as he stares back, lip tucked between his teeth and hand fluttering nervously by his hip.

“Fuck’s sake, Sylvain, put it on me,” Felix says. Then, breaking Sylvain’s eyes, he mutters, “And then you can tell me how nice I look sucking your cock.”

“I knew you liked it,” Sylvain says, and the way he so readily guides Felix’s mouth toward him makes Felix’s head spin. “Go on and be good for me, then. Let me see how pretty your lips are stretched around me.”

Felix doesn’t deign to answer, only rolls his eyes and lets his jaw drop as he sinks onto Sylvain’s length. His hands splay across Sylvain’s lower stomach, one thumb teasing at the soft, thin trail of hair that stretches up toward his navel. The other man is a vision above him, all breathy sighs and punched-out moans as Felix takes all he can. It’s a nice cock—Felix can certainly understand why Sylvain's never hurt for company, but it’s not particularly a thought he’d like to entertain with said cock nudging against the back of his throat.

Somewhere around the time he hollows his cheeks and sucks, Sylvain finds his voice.  _ “So  _ good,” he moans softly. “Shit, Fe, you  _ do  _ look good down there. Fucking lovely, you know that? I could watch you all day.” His thumb brushes over Felix’s cheek, skims over where Felix’s lips part to take him. “I want to wreck you, Felix. Would you like that?”

Felix pulls off with a soft  _ pop  _ and rests his cheek on a fist. “Think you can last long enough to wreck me properly?”

“That a yes?” Sylvain asks, and Felix barely gets out  _ Of fucking course, Gautier,  _ before Sylvain’s pushing back into his mouth with abandon. Felix’s world narrows to the feeling of Sylvain’s hand in his hair, the soreness of his jaw, the rough twist of his own hand on his cock as he brings himself closer and closer to the edge.

When Sylvain comes, it spills across Felix’s tongue and down his chin, and part of him wishes he was at least a  _ little  _ ashamed of the way it’s fucking embarrassing when Sylvain holds his mouth open with his thumb. There’s a hardness in his eyes, a steely glint that makes Felix whine in the back of his throat as Sylvain tells him to bring himself off.

“I want to see you fall apart,” he says, swiping the come off of Felix’s chin and pressing his jaw shut. “Swallow for me, darling.”

That’s all it takes. Felix comes in long pulses over his knuckles, eyes shut and lips parted in a pant before Sylvain replaces oxygen with tongue and pulls Felix back down to lay on top of him. He accepts the softness of Sylvain’s touches, arches up into Sylvain’s palm where it eventually comes to rest on the back of his head, and his voice rasps when he speaks. 

“So you’ve thought of that for a while,” he say quietly, foot rubbing against the length of Sylvain’s calf.

“Yeah.” 

Such a simple admission, but Felix marvels at how one word can hold so much weight. 

“Promise me this isn’t going to fuck things up between us,” Sylvain whispers.

Felix’s head snaps up from where his cheek is pressed over Sylvain’s heart. “I just let you see  _ that  _ side of me, and  _ you’re _ worrying about fucking it up?” he says, but backs down when he catches the true worry written in the wrinkle of Sylvain’s brow. “It won’t change things,” he says. “Not unless they’re things you want to change.”

“Fe…” Sylvain’s fingers are light as butterfly wings as they brush over his cheek to tuck a few stray hairs behind his ears. “There’s a lot I think I want to change,” he murmurs. “But is now the time?”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to start quoting policy and tradition,” Felix says, a cold dread beginning to cross over his heart. “Not when we haven’t even fucking cleaned up.”

Sylvain shakes his head, seems to will away the doubts plaguing him before he grabs for his discarded shirt and begins to wipe them both down. He’s quiet, and Felix doesn’t like it this time.

“Hey,” he says. He kneels over Sylvain’s hips and catches his face with both (now clean) hands to press their lips softly together. “I said I’d stay by your side, didn’t I? I mean that now more than ever,” he mumbles. “Don’t get in your head about it now.”

“All right,” Sylvain says. “Yeah, okay, sorry. Hey, come here.” He throws an arm to the side and pulls the blanket up, an invitation that Felix takes immediately to curl against his side. “You’re really cute when you get all flushed, you know.”

Felix yanks the blanket up over his face because he’s not about to be told again, and he can feel the blush all the way into his ears. “I’ll stab you if you ever say that in public.”

“Oh, I’d expect nothing less,” Sylvain says, his laugh vibrating straight into Felix’s body as he dips down under the blanket with him. “You wouldn’t be my Felix if you didn’t.”

“Say that again.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

“No, you fuck, the...you know.” Even though it’s dark and Sylvain can’t see him, Felix ducks his head. “That I’m...yours.”

Sylvain huffs a soft laugh before seeking out Felix’s forehead, pressing his lips to Felix’s temple and between his brow before whispering, “My Felix. My gorgeous, sweet—”

_ “Sylvain.” _

_ “Angry—”  _ Sylvain says, and Felix  _ doesn’t  _ consider biting him about it— “love.”

“You’re infuriating.” Felix bites his lip, but leans closer to nuzzle under Sylvain’s chin with a soft noise of contentment. “But I suppose I love you too, all the same.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have not played _one single second_ of the game, so sorry if characterization is a bit wonky. I just have one brain cell and it got fixated on They. This was meant to be a short character study and it became Not That 😅
> 
> That said, thanks for reading! Comments make my world go round, and I always do my best to get back to them ❤️
> 
> You can also find me lurking and yelling about fictional characters on:  
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